The barmaid tried to pull away. Big Richard yanked her arm, hard. Isabella heard it break, an instant before the barmaid screamed in pain. A break like that wouldn’t be easy to heal, not without magic. Big Richard had just crippled her. He let go, allowing the barmaid to scurry off into the backroom. Her arm was twisted at an unnatural angle.
“You killed my brother,” Big Richard growled. He lifted one of his protective amulets, as if he believed its mere presence would send her reeling back. “You killed ...”
Isabella winced. Little Jim had died saving her life. She owed it to Little Jim not to kill his brother. But she had her limits. She had no idea why Big Richard hated magic-users so much, but that didn’t give him the right to speak to her like that. He was so drunk he probably didn’t have the slightest idea what he was actually doing. No matter how much he detested her, he was normally careful not to annoy his boss.
“My brother is dead because of you,” Big Richard said. He bunched his fists. “You should have died instead ...”
He threw a punch. Isabella darted backwards, allowing training to take over. He missed her, but kept coming anyway. She heard the crowd shouting and cheering – and placing bets – as she threw a jab at his eyes. Magic crackled along her fingertips, demanding that she unleash it, but she held it back. No one would respect her if she froze him in his tracks or turned him into a toad. She had to win through force.
“Detestable whore,” Big Richard swore at her. He moved with surprising speed for such a drunk man. “You ...”
Isabella grunted in pain as he caught her wrist, pulling her towards him. She pressed her fingers together, then thrust them into his eye. He howled, snapping her arm back with terrifying strength. Isabella gritted her teeth – he’d nearly pulled her arm out of the socket – and brought up her knee as hard as she could. He laughed as her knee struck an armoured codpiece, hidden below his trousers. He’d protected his groin against attacks.
He yanked her forward, again. Isabella twisted, bringing her hand down hard on his wrist and striking his pressure points. His hand snapped free as he cursed out loud; she darted backwards, hoping the pain would be enough to convince him to think twice. Her shoulder was hurting, badly enough to slow her down. She muttered a healing cantrip under her breath as she looked up at him. The raw hatred in his eyes startled her. It was deeply personal.
“Get the bitch,” someone shouted. Others took up the cry, cheering one or both of them as they placed newer bets. “Kill her!”
Isabella braced herself as Big Richard gathered himself. She knew a dozen spells that would probably break through his protections, but using them ... she cursed under her breath. Even if she beat him physically, he’d never forgive her. Everyone would mock him for being thrashed by a woman. And using spells would ...
He lunged forward. Isabella dodged to the side, trying to get a punch through his wavering fists. But he was practically made of solid muscle. She slammed a fist into his jaw, only to see him shrug the blow off and keep coming. His arm swung at her wildly, nearly striking her head. She ducked back, trying to think of a way to end the fight without killing him or smashing his reputation. A single blow from him would probably be enough to knock her out and end the fight. She didn’t want to think about what he’d do to her unconscious body.
She evaded a second blow, then tried to drive a stab at his other eye. This time, he lunged forward and crashed into her with breathtaking force. She fell backwards, her head striking the floor hard enough to make her see stars. Big Richard shoved her down, pushing one hand into her chest while drawing back the other to put her lights out. Isabella reached for her magic, hastily. She wasn’t going to let him beat her into unconsciousness. She’d be lying there, completely at his mercy. And it was all too clear that he’d probably have his fun, then slit her throat ...
“Hold,” a sharp voice said.
Isabella twisted her head as Big Richard froze. Lord Robin was standing there, looking furious. She wondered who’d gone to fetch him, dragging him out of his meeting with a potential client ... she silently thanked the tattletale, even though she knew she’d never be able to say it in person. He’d probably saved a life. She just wasn’t sure which of them had been saved.
“Get up,” Lord Robin snapped.
Big Richard rolled off Isabella and stood, carefully not looking at her as he lumbered to his feet. Isabella followed, silently grateful that no one had tried to help her up. It wasn’t easy commanding respect as a female mercenary, even though the fight had – technically – been a draw. She wanted – she needed – to be treated as one of the boys. If they started thinking of her as a weak and feeble woman ...
“I told you not to start any fights,” Lord Robin said. “Do you have an excuse for this behaviour?”
“No, sir,” Big Richard said. Drunk or not, he was still smart enough not to annoy Lord Robin. “None.”
Lord Robin’s eyes moved to Isabella. “None, sir,” she said. Telling the truth wouldn’t help, not when they had been ordered to behave. Besides, she couldn’t afford to sound like a tattletale either. “We have no excuse.”
“I see,” Lord Robin said.
He raised his hand. Isabella winced, inwardly, as he slapped Big Richard across the face, the sound echoing in the silent chamber. The crowd was silent. Isabella gritted her teeth, then forced herself to stand still as he slapped her too. Her cheekbones exploded in pain, stars flittering across her eyes. She’d never experienced such discipline in the Golden City. But then, Lord Robin didn’t have an entire society backing him up either. He had to be the alpha dog if he wanted to stay in command. And that meant showing them that he was the strongest person in the room.
“Richard, go lie down until you’ve slept it off,” Lord Robin ordered. His tone made it very clear that he knew he wouldn’t be disobeyed. “Isabella, with me.”
He turned and walked out of the room. Isabella walked after him, feeling countless eyes following her until she closed the door. She’d given a good account of herself, she knew, but she’d come very close to losing. And she’d reached for her magic ... her fingers reached up to stroke her cheek, silently casting another cantrip. If Lord Robin noticed her using magic, he gave no sign.
I’ll have to find the barmaid, she told herself. She wasn’t a druid, but she knew enough about healing magic to save the poor girl’s arm. And then warn her to stay well away from Big Richard until we’re on our way out of here.
“We have a new job,” Lord Robin said, as they walked up the stairs. “And you have a visitor.”
Isabella blinked. “I have a visitor?”
“Yes,” Lord Robin said. “He asked for you personally. By name.”
“Oh,” Isabella said. “And who is he?”
“He said his name was Smyth,” Lord Robin said. “I suspect it isn’t his real name.”
Isabella had to fight down a giggle. Smyth was a joke ... a Golden City joke. The name was assumed by someone who wanted to remain anonymous, even though it was often blindingly obvious that the disguise wasn’t fooling anyone. Anyone who used the name wanted privacy and was prepared to pay for it. And that meant ... what? Someone from the Golden City? Or someone who was familiar with the city? It wasn’t as if the city had been that exclusive before the fall. Countless magicians, noblemen and merchants had spent time in the Golden City.
She forced herself to think. One of her old clients? It was possible, she supposed, although they were a long way from the last place she’d worked. Or someone else ... she shook her head. None of her former lovers had any way to track her down. Besides, she’d made it clear to them that the relationship wouldn’t last. Did someone know who she was? She doubted it, but ... it was possible.
Lord Robin stopped outside an unmarked wooden door. “I’ll be holding a formal meeting tomorrow, in the bar,” he said. “Be there.”
“Yes, sir,” Isabella said.
“And see if you can find a hangover cure,” Lord Robin added. “I want everyone
to be ready to listen.”
“As you wish,” Isabella said. She didn’t really want to find something to help Big Richard get over his headache – if he had enough brain cells to have headaches – but she wasn’t being given a choice. “I’ll go looking after I meet with ... Smyth.”
She knocked, then pushed open the door. The room was larger than she’d expected, illuminated by a single ball of glowing magic. And sitting in a rough chair was the last face she’d expected to see ...
“Alden?”
Her brother looked up. “Come on in,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”
Chapter Four
Isabella had to fight to keep her legs from buckling.
Alden hadn’t changed much, as far as she could tell. He’d been fifteen years old when she’d been born and they’d never really been close. Alden had been the kind of person who’d never truly been young, parroting their father instead of developing a mind of his own. He hadn’t been a bad elder brother – not compared to some of the assholes she’d met since leaving the Golden City – but he hadn’t been a very good one either. He’d acted more like a parent than an older brother, bossing her around practically since she’d learnt to walk. The only point she could see in his favour was that he’d supported her, once, when their father had threatened her with a fate worse than death.
She sat down and studied him, using the pause to get her thoughts under control. Alden looked more like their father than ever, his greying hair tied back in a long ponytail that made him look ready to cast spells at a moment’s notice. He wore a black shirt and trousers rather than magician’s robes, but the wand at his belt spoilt the illusion that he was a wealthy merchant rather than heir to a magical family. And his face ... Isabella shivered as she met his eyes. They were the eyes of a man who had seen terrible things.
Her heart was beating in her chest, thumping so loudly that she was surprised he couldn’t hear the sound. She calmed herself as best as she could. Alden ... Alden shouldn’t have been able to find her, not after she’d been disowned. She should have been cut right out of the family magic, her blood wiped from the family tree. How the hell had he found her? Even if he’d heard of an Isabella in Andalusia, he shouldn’t have connected her to the youngest daughter of House Majuro. Her name wasn’t that uncommon.
“Isabella,” Alden said. He sounded just like their father too. “I ...”
He stopped, just for a moment. A shiver ran down Isabella’s spine. She’d never seen Alden be anything less than completely certain of himself, even when he knew he was on unsteady ground. No, he’d often acted more confident when he wasn’t completely sure of himself. A show of complete confidence, their father had often said, could make up for problems, if done properly. Isabella hated to admit it, but the old bastard had been right.
“Isabella,” Alden repeated. “Right now, you and I are the last of House Majuro.”
Isabella stared at him. Her mouth dropped open as she struggled to comprehend what she’d been told. They were the last ...? They couldn’t be the last. She’d had six siblings, counting Alden. House Majuro had more than enough children – and cousins – to keep going, even after the patriarch died. Her thoughts caught up with her a second later. Their father was dead?
She found her voice. “Our father ... our father is dead?”
“Yes,” Alden said. “And so are our siblings.”
Isabella barely heard him. Alay Majuro was dead? The old man had been a nightmare, ruthlessly pushing his children into careers and occupations he felt would benefit the family ... and to hell with whatever they wanted for themselves. He’d told Isabella that she was going to be an Inquisitor, ordering her to study advanced magic and beating her whenever her marks slipped too low. She’d fought back as best she could, but it hadn’t been until she’d managed to get herself kicked out of the training course that she’d been formally disowned and told to leave. It had been something of a relief. And yet ...
She felt her heart twist. The old man had meant well, hadn’t he? The family was their heart and soul. Except he’d broken all of them ...
And now he’s dead, she thought. She didn’t know how she felt. She’d loved it when he’d praised her achievements, even as she’d hated the punishments for not living up to his expectations. Aldan hadn’t been helpful, either. Her oldest brother should have spoken up for her, but instead ... he’d said nothing. Father is dead and I ...
She looked up. “What happened?”
“What happened?” Aldan stared down at the empty table. “What happened was a nightmare.”
Isabella listened, torn between disbelief and horror, as Alden stumbled through an explanation. The death of the Grand Sorcerer was no surprise – the old man had been ailing for years, even before she’d left the Golden City – but everything else? An Emperor? An Empress? A godlike entity from the depths of history ... she wouldn’t have believed it, if the Empire hadn’t fallen. The gods alone knew how many magicians had died in the Golden City. It was clear that none of the court wizards had returned to their puppet kingdoms.
“There aren’t many survivors,” Alden finished. “Most of the Great Houses are gone, Isabella, or badly weakened. The Inquisition no longer exists, to all intents and purposes. There are only five or six Inquisitors left ... you might be one of the handful of outsiders with the training. And the Empire is gone too.”
He shook his head. “Didn’t you hear any of this?”
“Just rumours,” Isabella said. She hadn’t wanted to know, not really. She’d been disowned and that was the end of the matter. “Did father ... I thought father disowned me.”
“I talked him into not disowning you completely,” Alden said. “But he was very clear that you would not be allowed to reclaim your place until after his death. I just ... I just don’t think he expected the rest of his children to die.”
“No,” Isabella said. She put a hard block on her emotions. She’d loved her siblings, even though they’d fought like cats and dogs when they were younger. She would have to mourn them properly, later. “So what’s happening now? And why are you here?”
Alden sighed. “We don’t have the influence we had five years ago,” he said. “The Golden City is effectively gone. We still have the Peerless School and we’re taking students from all over the world, but ... it’s only a matter of time before rival schools get underway. And then ... frankly, the only thing that keeps the Golden City from being overrun is the threat of defences buried within the mountains. We are trying to keep ourselves neutral, Isabella, but that isn’t going to last.”
“I imagine not,” Isabella said. Sooner or later, a king would see advantage in keeping the Peerless School and Great Library to himself. There were secrets buried within the vaults, secrets that should never be allowed to see the light of day. But if Alden was telling the truth, there was no way the school’s former defenders could keep those secrets to themselves indefinitely. “So ... why are you here?”
“Your friend, Lord Robin, has been hired by the Crown Prince,” Alden said. He looked pained for a moment. “Please tell me you’re not sleeping with him.”
Isabella felt a flicker of annoyance. “The Crown Prince? I’m not sleeping with the Crown Prince.”
Alden gave her a long-suffering look at her deliberate misunderstanding. “Lord Robin,” he said, tartly. “Are you sleeping with him?”
“No,” Isabella said. She was tempted to wind him up, as she’d done when she’d been a little girl, but ... she was old enough to know better. Besides, she didn’t think he had time to waste being overprotective. “He’s my boss. I don’t sleep with my boss.”
“Good,” Alden said. “Is he really a lord?”
“He claims to be,” Isabella said, curtly. “Are you going to get to the point sometime in this century?”
Alden’s eyes narrowed in a manner she remembered all too well from her childhood. She forced herself to look back evenly. She was no longer a little girl and he was no longer her know-it
-all older brother. If he wanted something from her, he could damn well do her the courtesy of treating her like an adult. Besides, if she hadn’t been disowned permanently, he had certain obligations towards her.
“The Crown Prince believes that Andalusia has a right to the Summer Isle,” Alden said, finally. He gave her a tight little smile. “Unfortunately, the denizens of the Summer Isle disagree. One of their noblemen has declared himself a king and dared Andalusia to do something about it. The Crown Prince intends to pick up the gauntlet and do something about it.”
“I see,” Isabella said. A war ... there would be plenty of work for mercenaries in a full-scale war. “And what does this have to do with us?”
“There have been odd ... rumours coming out of the Summer Isle,” Alden said. “It was never considered very important, Isabella, and most of the old intelligence networks rarely paid it any real attention. Quite a few of the agents we had in place are gone now, it seems. But the stories are worrying.”
Isabella met his eyes. “What stories?”
“Impossible magics,” Alden said. “Strange creatures. Weird ... encounters. People vanishing. Magic ... behaving oddly.”
“We saw something weird two days ago,” Isabella said. She briefly explained what they’d seen in the village. “I still don’t know what it was.”
“Me neither,” Alden said. “And you say it sucked out your magic?”
“None of my spells responded properly,” Isabella confirmed. “I couldn’t shape the magic before it faded and vanished.”
Alden considered it for a long moment. “There have always been odd stories on the fringes of civilisation, as you know, but these stories ... Isabella, we have to know what’s going on.”
Isabella nodded, slowly. She rarely paid any attention to rumours. The more outrageous a rumour, the more likely that the truth was buried beneath a mountain of nonsense. If, of course, there was any truth to the rumour. There were hundreds of old biddies in the Golden City who’d produced more bullshit than a herd of bulls. No ... there had been hundreds of old biddies. The Golden City was no longer the centre of the known world. If Alden was correct, it was nothing more than a backwater – or a prize to be won.
The Promised Lie Page 4